


The New Mr. Darcy

by the_welsh_woman



Category: Enola Holmes (2020), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Gen, Mycroft Being Mycroft, Mycroft Feels, Mycroft is Sweet, Mycroft is a Softie, Mycroft's Meddling, Protective Mycroft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:54:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27289732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_welsh_woman/pseuds/the_welsh_woman
Summary: All Edith and Mycroft do is butt heads. But that doesn't mean that something wonderful isn't bubbling right beneath the surface.  Sweetness, Fluff, tea, apologies.Enemies to lovers? I invite you to decide.
Relationships: Edith Grayston / Mycroft Holmes
Comments: 2
Kudos: 21





	The New Mr. Darcy

**Author's Note:**

> Hi and thank you for reading. You can find me as thetaoofzoe on tumblr

Mycroft Holmes was exhausted and all he wanted to do was go home and sulk by the fire with a good stiff brandy. Or two. An evening of silence, reflection and strong liquor was the only thing that could break him out of his self induced dither.

It was late on a Friday evening and the cool autumn rain was busily washing away the smog and fog and filth from the city. Mycroft didn’t particularly enjoy a cold rainy night, but he had to admit that the scent of the clean clear air was a welcome change from the dank scent of the press of bodies and horses and industrial smog. He took in a breath, held it, then let it out thinking about a conversation he’d had with a woman just the night before and he stood there in the blowing rain consumed with guilt because his careless words had offended her.

‘Sir? Are you ready to go?’

The words pulled him from his muse and Mycroft peered up at the hunched man in the Hansom’s driver’s seat.

‘Pardon?’

The driver gave him a curious look.

‘You hailed my cab?’

He had posed it as a question, but the down turn of his voice indicated that he thought the slim man in the trim black frock coat and top hat may have indulged too much at the club and was not in his right frame of mind. But a fare was a fare and he wasn’t going to let the well dressed gentleman get away.

‘Get in, sir, before you catch your death in this rain.’

Mycroft nodded. He had come out onto the road to wave down a cab, and having one there was fortuitous He climbed into the shallow interior and pulled the door closed. It was obvious the previous occupants were not fans of private hygiene and he wrinkled his nose.

The driver asked for his destination and Mycroft gave the address then sat back for the ride.

The city was still alive with people doing God knows what in the evening hours and travel was slow going. Mycroft leaned his heavy head against the padded wall next to the window and closed his eyes, ignoring everything that was going on outside of his own narrow enclosure.

The Hansom suddenly drew up to a jerking stop and the hollow rhythmic clop of horse hooves danced to a halt.

Probably some traffic in the road, Mycroft thought, eyes still closed, but when the cab sat for nearly five additional minutes, he sat forward and used the silver rabbit head walking cane to rap on the window between he and the driver.

‘What’s the hold up?’ he called, trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice.

‘Overturned cart, sir,’ answered the man. ‘Blocking the road.’

‘Oh, for God sake,’ Mycroft grumbled. ‘Can’t you turn round? There are other methods of getting to my destination.’

‘I can do that, sir!’ chirped the man. 

He then clicked at his horse who perked up and wheeled round the cab as directed. The cab bobbed away from the obstruction in the road and Mycroft noticed that it was going the long way round and therefore would cost more. He sighed. As long as it got him home, it was bearable.

He idly watched the buildings roll by and after a moment, started to frown. This area they were moving through was beginning to look familiar. Abruptly his heart clenched with panic in his chest, and his mouth was working before his brain engaged enough with his snap decision to talk him out of it.

‘Driver, stop here!’ he shouted and was halfway out of the carriage before it had fully come to a halt.

The driver promptly complained that he had been expecting the full fare (exactly what was promised) to take the gentleman to his original destination. And, that shortening the trip was going to cause a loss in income.

Of course, Mycroft didn’t have to pay full fare, as he was well within in his rights to stop the transport wherever he wished and pay only what the truncated trip required. However, Mycroft relented and paid the man what was originally promised, plus a generous tip. He was not in the mood to fight alone in the middle of a rainy evening on the avenue.

Securing his top hat on his head and grabbing his walking cane, he trotted across the wet street and approached a familiar warmly lighted shop front.

He didn’t know what he was doing there. He didn’t know why he was there in front of her little tea shoppe that smelt of fire-warmed melted chocolate and cinnamon and strong black tea.

No, he thought, unwilling to go along with his own delusions. That wasn’t true.

He knew exactly why he was there.

Through the front glass he could see Edith puttering about, and casually wiping her hands on a small pink towel before she walked towards the door. As she reached to turn the ‘Welcome’ sign to ‘Closed’, she spotted him staring in at her from the street like a ghostly specter.

It took a moment for her to compose herself and when recognition bloomed she scowled. The neatly hand lettered ‘Closed’ sign clattered into place and a small fisted hand came to rest on her hip.

Mycroft felt his cheeks heat beneath her examination. He lifted the silver headed cane and waggled it in greeting.

‘What do you want, Mr. Holmes?’ she asked uncharitably.

I deserve that, he thought. She has no reason to be kind to me.

‘I’m sorry, Miss Grayston!’ he called, hoping to be heard over the night street noise and through the glass. ‘I was hoping to talk with you.’

‘The shoppe is closed, Mr. Holmes,’ she said.

Mycroft glanced at the sign.

‘I know,’ he said, creasing his brow a bit. ‘I know, and I’m sorry to bother you. Please. A moment of your time?’

Edith sighed and for a moment considered letting him conduct his business through the glass, but she had been raised much better than that.

These maddening Holmes men, she thought, unlocking the door and standing aside to let in the elder of the brothers. They will be the absolute death of me.

A thought rose in her mind and Edith immediately dismissed it, knowing that it was her treacherous subconscious trying to unearth what had happened between them the last time they’d butted heads. She pushed down the memory of that sudden lusty heat in his blue eyes, and how hungrily he drank in the sight of her lips in that tense moment after they’d growled near abuse at each other.

What had he come for? More abuse, or to continue what the younger Holmes had so unexpectedly interrupted. She glanced at him and gestured that he follow her into the kitchen.

In the warm kitchen, Mycroft put his hat on the table and leaned his cane against the smooth edge. Edith poured them both a hot steaming cuppa and politely offered the man a seat and a slice of ginger cream cake. He declined the cake, opted to remain standing, but gladly accepted the tea.

Mycroft darted nervous blue eyes round the cosy kitchen. This was definitely a woman’s place, he mused. Edith’s delicate and feminine influence was evident and it strangely comforted him.

She comforted him

Cup still clutched in his damp gloved hands, Mycroft sighed and waiting patiently, Edith sat looking up at him.

He cleared his throat.

‘It’s not that I… hmm no. I’m not…’

He trailed off and frowned, dipping his sharp head to one side so that he would avoid mistakenly looking into her face. Her enchantingly beautiful face.

More silence drifted between them as she watched him struggle with whatever it was he came there to say. If she let him witter on, as he didn’t seem to have a handle on himself, Edith knew that they could be there all night. She was already tired and wanted to go to bed, so she prompted him with a variety of choices.

‘So, you are either here, because you want to … apologise? You are interested in my services for an upcoming tea party? You’re lost?’

Mycroft lifted his head and looked squarely at her. There was a smile toying with her generous mouth and he knew that she was teasing him. At least a little teasing and his spirits lifted slightly.

‘I came to apologise, yes.’

He let out a soft, self-conscious breath and felt relieved when she smiled encouragingly in response. Edith drank her tea and continued to wait, letting her eyes drift over his features, over his elegant moustache, down his chin and over the front of his frock coat. Like his brother, Mycroft was a man of quality. He may have been misguided at times and absolutely block-headed at others, Edith could admit to herself that she enjoyed verbally sparring with him.

Mycroft cleared his throat. Again.

Oh, here we go, the big pronouncement, thought Edith and hid her growing and amused smile behind her cup.

‘I was… I had overstepped my boundaries and offended you. For that I am humbly sorry.’

Edith delicately replaced the cup in the saucer and let him stew for a moment longer as she spooned a bit of cake into her mouth and chewed.

Mycroft looked helplessly at her. 

‘Please accept my apology, Miss Grayston.’ 

She stood after a moment and with hand outstretched, she approached him. An invitation. Mycroft rushed to put down his own cup and whipping off his leather glove, he closed her tiny hand in his, leaned down and kiss the back of her proffered hand.

‘I accept your apology.’

Head still bowed, Mycroft said, ‘Thank you.’

He held her hand for a moment longer, then drew up to his full height, eyes gleaming at her in the lamp light. Edith looked up into his face and then down at the hand still gripping hers.

‘You are still holding my hand, Mr. Holmes.’

Mycroft made a show of peering down at their still joined hands as if his actions were a surprise to him as well, and nodded, looking thoughtful.

‘Hm, it appears that I am.’

‘And do you plan to release me any time soon?’

‘Yes, yes, of course Miss Grayston.’

But, he didn’t. Instead, Mycroft slid his free hand about her waist and easily drew her closer. He relished the stiff feel of her corset beneath her clothes and made a soft noise of appreciation.

Edith reached up, cupped his face and rising on her tiptoes, she kissed his cheek. Planting both hands on his chest, she gently pushed him away.

‘Now, you know that you have to behave, in order to earn your liberties. Yes?’

Mycroft rubbed his gloved thumb across the back of his own naked hand and nodded like an obedient child.

‘Yes, Mr. Holmes?’ she pressed, biting her lower lip to stop herself from kissing him again.

‘Yes, Miss Grayston. Yes, yes of course.’

Edith picked up his velvety black top hat and cane and presented them both to the elder Holmes.

‘Let me see you home, Miss Grayston.’

‘I’m just next door, you know that.’

Hat still in hand, he made a sweeping gesture towards the kitchen door. Pleased, Edith smiled, and retrieved her coat. The night was foggy and the air smelt of the aftermath of rain. 

The walk was short, but nonetheless pleasurable and when she walked up the steps to reach the front door, she turned to look at him over her shoulder. 

‘Good night, Mr. Holmes,’ she said opening the front door and walking into the building.

‘Good night, Miss. Grayston.’


End file.
